


Ofekufa — Elevated

by luxkovacs



Series: Papnor — Remembrance [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Childhood, Gen, No Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2018-09-26 02:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9858446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxkovacs/pseuds/luxkovacs
Summary: Rein Li Vale's life is about to take a sharp turn after meeting a Jedi Master in her hometown of Kaadara.Takes place in 3618 AtC / 35 BBY.





	1. Kaadara I

“… Eight, nine, ten! Ready or not, here I come!” 

The announcement still excites the girl; still thrills her to the bone in spite of the weekend routine that it’s become. Hide-and-seek: a favourite pastime shared between the Vale twins. That on its own is a rarity worth mentioning, for the two don’t share much in terms of interests. Apart from this, they have only their birthdate, their qukuuf and the deep brown curls cascading down their shoulders in common. They aren’t aware of that like their parents are. 

They are two Naboo residents hailing from vastly different worlds: Hapes and Kiffar. The former yielded the trader Jonah Li, father to the two rambunctious spirits stumbling about the forested area behind their residence; the latter was once home to Leesa of clan Vale, mother and ingenious medic. They now sit by the kitchen’s casement, occasionally peeking outside over the rims of the mugs holding their caf mid-conversation. They, unlike Royd, fail to spot Rein from behind the narrow and tall window.

She peeks through the greenery and spots him amidst his approach, searching the dry grass and barren sands as if he might find her there rather than right in front of him. She braces herself against the nearest tree, preparing to push off and bolt for a new spot to offer her shelter from the other's searching gaze. With the final shift of her weight, a branch beneath her snaps and suddenly a memory that isn't even hers thrusts itself on to her. She sees two tall, dancing figures, presumably her parents, kicking up dust as they go. She can't see much else than that and Naboo's three moons slowly wheeling past overhead. It wouldn't matter if she'd been able to see more, anyway. It's irrelevant — much to her pending annoyance by the time she snaps out of it.

“Found you!” Naturally. He always does, for even when not brought to a precipitous halt by the sudden projection of imagery onto her retinae, Rein’s less stealthy than she cares to admit. As a matter of fact, she’d deny it with a stony face if anyone called her out on the twig fracturing beneath her foot just a heartbeat ago, and even more so if it was her brother doing so. He's the one in possession of his trademark affinity for stealth. He does't even need to try. She does, and fails. Every time it really matters, that is.

She's left staring her grinning brother in the eye (consider it her own wordless form of denial) for a beat prior to darting off and breaking into a swift sprint. One particularly shrewd manoeuvre around a cluster of shrubs later, she’s managed to at least shake him off sufficiently enough… for a time.

The residual image of her brother’s face peeking through the thicket’s branches spurs her toward the posterior wall of their home, the designated base that’ll dub her the winner if she can only reach it in time. But Royd’s legs are long for someone his age and in her moment of split second reminiscence, his arms seem to be as well. He reaches for her mid-jog, leaping at her like a tusk cat at a shaak. Amidst his already scarce premeditation, he evidently failed to take into consideration that a fall must ensue any such attempt should it succeed — and that it does. His fingers stay hooked into the fabric of his sister’s shirt whilst she falls victim to gravity’s final pull. Her chin and the heels of her palms take the brunt of the tumble and are met only with the coarseness of dry soil.

It’s the bruising of her ego she feels long before the sting of her torn skin. She's valued her pride over her body for as long as she (and her family) can remember, yet the damage sustained by her skin is instantly passed on to her ego — which is, in fact, the much more sensitive of the two. Royd knows this and in turn finds himself subjected to a rude awakening from the victory he had meant to enjoy. His smiling face isn’t met with a mirrored expression, but instead with tear-infested eyes and the sight of their mother pacing into view from peripheral vision before he can even speak.

“By the stars! What happened here?” Her exclamation almost takes on a rhetorical nature since the answer's known to her already. She’d been watching, after all. Rein knew that. Her concern is simply typical of her in the most positive sense of the word, though the stubborn-minded girl barely finds herself open to accepting it so easily. Instead she scrambles back onto her feet and dusts off her tunic with the backs of her injured hands.

“Nothing. We were playing hide-and-seek. I fell. I’m fine.” Her cream-coloured sleeve is dragged across her chin, the fabric grating enough to merit a wince that easily prompts Leesa to lower into a crouch. Royd watches on from a distance, out of his mother’s sight, regret steadily manifesting about the sore edges of his conscience. An obvious fruit yielded by guilt toward his sister (who indeed just saved his skin with her answer) and the ulterior aversion to any pending reprimand.

Now more than ever, though, their mother’s demeanour softens. “Come here.” She pulls a clean cloth from her overcoat’s pocket, unfolding it with a single flourish of the hand prior to raising it to her daughter’s marred chin. She doesn’t flinch this time the textile touches her. In fact, she even upturns her hands for needed cleaning just as her mother moves to put away the square of wool. 

“Oh,” Leesa sighs — not with surprise, but with something more akin to that same old concern. It's nowhere near as perpetual in nature as her children believe it to be, in sooth, but it does have the tendency to grow into some overwhelming entity of its own when it _does_  manifest. Her head shakes and her eyes are shut for a moment, displaying the entirety of the dark markings her children bear, too — though not long enough to prevent an unyielding gaze to cast itself toward her son.

It catches him by surprise how her eyes are shown to be anything but hostile. They're brilliant with the heavily saturated hue of green blades of grass, keen in their own way without being uneasy to look at. It sufficiently weakens the unforgiving grasp of contrition that plagues the boy, albeit only for the underwhelming length of about two whole seconds. Those same eyes remain only as emphatic as Leesa's ensuing words are once she resumes the cleaning of the wounds. “You two must learn to be more careful with each other. You’re brother and sister, not hunter and prey.”

Not a moment later does Jonah step into view, resulting in a prompt lowering of Royd's head in unmistakeable shame and distilled dread. The latter sentiment especially will soon prove unnecessary with his father's sanction. “Aren’t they? It's the purpose of the game they play to chase one another. They’re simply good at it.”

“Too good, perhaps,” Leesa alternates with a knowing smile as she finishes tending to Rein. “Meaning: playtime’s over. The sun will set soon, and I do believe it’s high time for dinner.” She rises to full stature and extends one hand to each child. They reach without hesitation, movements in sync — and their voiced assumption in kind: “Gizka steak?” They receive only an affirmative wink from their father in response once headed inside.

* * *

Plates rattle upon being stacked on and along the counter, usual background banter as so often before dissolving into two separate conversations: one between mother and father and one between their children some feet away.

“No way,” chimes Royd — loudly, clearly, only to then lean in to his sister and reduce his voice to a scant whisper: “That man said he can do it too? Where is he now?” In turn, that earns him an elbow to the side. “Shh! Mum and dad can’t hear about it.”

The boy promptly flattens his lips, even if he's becoming slightly worried about explicitly excluding their parents from this talk. Why can't they know? And does that even matter in the face of his sister's unyielding trust in him?

“But yes,” Rein speedily continues in a hushed tone, dispelling any concern of his, “he showed me. I _think_ he was a Jedi. You saw him, right? He had the robes and everything,” alluding to a bearing akin to those described to her before, especially. Their existence was known to her enough so to assure her of that much, but the presence of one such esteemed figures here — that is, close to their little corner of the sand-strewn territories Kaadara was hewn out of? Unlikely, in her own expert mind. Either way, those spoken words without further enlightenment as to her thoughts appear enough to merit a stifled noise of astonishment from her brother. His mouth stays agape for a drawn out moment before his sister once more succinctly reminds him of her need for silence.

So rather than responding to her rhetorical question, Royd reflects, sinking deeper and deeper into his own rumination with every sweeping motion of the tea towel over the ceramics. He thinks back on how he'd caught her this afternoon, crouched amidst the bushes past their garden with fingers splayed across the bark of the tall tree poking out of them. It wasn't the first time, he knows. She's confided in him before about this special matter, in fact. She’s told him all about the things the greenery would show her if only she’d touch them on the right places without much needed guesswork. She trusted him that much. He'd initially tried pointing out that these memories, which were never hers to begin with, were nothing but last night’s dreams wound up a failed attempt at scepticism on his part.

She was convinced the leaves had eyes and the boughs had ears, thousands of them, open only to the right manner of touch. Absurd as that sounded to him initially, he believed her all the same. He still does to this day.

He never was good at keeping his curiosity to himself for longer than necessary. As such, once bedtime came around for both himself and his sister and they were left with only themselves and the privacy of their shared room, it’s made manifest. 

She’s not yet even been given the opportunity to close her eyes. Sleep seems a distant reality at best with the other’s voice rattling away. Even in his whispering, he’s loud. “So a Jedi, here, in Kaadara?”

“Yes.” Her answer in turn is reduced to a drawl, deformed by the fatigue yanking at the corners of her mouth. Had she not been looking forward to her promised sleep, she might’ve smiled. “A real Jedi.” The underlying theme of her thoughts regarding her own brother always involves how much more mature she believes herself to be. Right now that particular feeling swells exponentially.

“Why do you think he was here? Did he tell you? Maybe…” Royd’s speculation is cut short by a jerking movement of his upper body propping itself up on his elbow. Not that it makes a difference to him, given the complete and utter blindness the lack of light affords him (and Rein, for that matter). He simply feels too awake to stay put, mind aflutter with vivid imagery of dancing lightsabers, levitating rocks — and, most importantly, a full beard decorating the face of the man he'd seen in passing yesterday.

“Maybe,” he resumes, “he was here for you! Or me! Or both of us!” This myriad of possibilities stirs to life certain disquiet in Rein. Inertia no longer seems a sufficient buffer between her ratio and emotion. She’s been told of what happens to Force-sensitive children once discovered. In her mind, already so predisposed toward trepidation, that wedges a lobe in her throat. The prospect of being the sole person of interest to any Jedi, however kind, is too jarring to truly entertain no matter the complete lack of foundation for such a claim. Her brother is her other half. They make a whole. She’s been told that all her life, and she believes it.

“Or he’s here to investigate something or someone else,” she eventually diverts. It’s a theory she finds much easier to believe in every sense of the word: easy on her mind, easy on her heart — yet unequivocally boring to her counterpart.

“Wow.” Disenchantment seeps from that single syllable and punctuates the thud paired with flopping onto his back. Capitulating to the other’s lethargy suddenly seems the only plausible option now. A sigh consequentially flees him (one mockingly repeated on the other side of the room) as he resorts to staring at the ceiling.

Rein on the other hand keeps her eyes shut, now more so to blind herself to the listed options than to the different shade of darkness shrouding her physical form. She clings to her disbelief notwithstanding the temptation she feels pressuring her to actually entertain the aforementioned thoughts. What if, by some strange twist of fate, her conversation with the bearded stranger set in motion a chain of events not so unlike that which Royd’s mind appeared to be overflowing with? It strikes a note of fear into her person she realises she can’t ward off so easily now that she only has silence to fall back on. She writhes under her quilt, rolls over and swallows thickly once she lies on her side. Facing the other with newly opened eyes doesn’t change a thing. She's still blind; she still frets.

“Royd?”

Nothing. Of course he would fall asleep before her. He always does.


	2. Kaadara II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a flashback to the first meeting between Rein and the Jedi mentioned in the 2nd and 3rd section of the previous chapter ( Kaadara I ).

Today had been slow by all accounts. Slow enough, in fact, to merit an impromptu trip to the markets after their final hour of tedious droning in a classroom full of torpid peers. Their teacher barely seemed in better condition than her students – it was the exceptional heat’s doing, she’d said – which did result in a fortunate early release.

Most of their peers dispersed as soon as the doors opened, dashing to their homes to seek shelter from the relentless sun, but not the Vale twins. That is, they sought shelter not at home, but around the marketplace. There they’ve found it, too, right underneath the undulating canvases of the stalls. 

They don’t browse the sections that’d be of interest to the likes of their parents. Like many of their peers, they instead gravitate toward the food. 

Succulent fruits, sweet pastries and tangy meats — all of which they’re allowed to sample upon strolling past all the items laid out in front of them. In fact, by the time they reach the end of that particular section of the bazaar, they consider their appetites satisfied and their thirsts quenched; enough so to last them throughout their hike home (and hopefully until dinner), at least. 

With their bellies filled, they sluggishly navigate toward the eastern edge of the market where they come across a cloaked figure there. Royd thinks nothing of it. Rein, on the other hand, can’t help but slow her pace somewhat to study the bearded man’s profile and the grey material of his obi. His hair is like hers, long and wavy, albeit several tints darker and shiny with what she guesses must be one of the pricy oils put on display by several of the merchants here. He’s greying around his temples, too, and around his black eyes she spots shallow crow’s feet.

He looks back at her after a moment’s delay, almost as if he’d intentionally given her the time to scrutinise him only so he could subject her to a similar treatment. Their eyes meet and Rein stops in her tracks completely now, features painted by a sense of complete bemusement in response to what comes over her. She can’t identify it; can’t even begin to understand whether it’s a feeling or something else entirely, but it startles her and overpowers her common sense. It’s that precise confusion that has her forehead pucker, which in turn sparks to life a smile on the tall man. His teeth contrast so greatly with his facial hair and the tone of his skin, she might’ve mistaken them for pearls if she hadn’t known better.

But she’s promptly relieved of her bemusement by one of the patrons bumping into her, forcing her body to pivot in an attempt to regain its lost balance. She stumbles over her own legs before she can help it, however — but the former subject of her attention is the first to rush to her side. His reflexes are keen beyond reason, even she can tell. The perpetrator merely apologises in passing before leaving the consequences to the black-haired stranger. 

He kneels beside her, eyes dragging across her qukuuf. They linger on her green eyes before suddenly lowering to her still scabbed hands. The wounds aren’t fresh but they did cushion the blow. Her equally marked chin was spared another beating thanks to it. “Are you all right?” His brow creases like Rein’s had mere seconds ago, though his do so out of concern. 

“I’m fine.” Her catchphrase resounds as always after something of this sort happens (which is often). The last time she’d cried after falling was some four years ago. Royd remembers to this day. She doesn’t.

The man hums thoughtfully, gaze darting back and forth between the girl’s features and palms before getting up and offering her a hand to support her in doing the same. His offer goes unanswered. 

“Wait. Let me see,” he attempts, gesturing to her hands before she can go after her (ostensibly oblivious) brother. She’s left as intrigued as she is wary, the former sentiment of which successfully beguiles her into holding up both hands.

He takes them in his, thumb gently sweeping over the blemishes and promptly catching a glimpse into what earned her these blood born crusts. “You fell, didn’t you? Playing hide and seek with your brother,” he pauses, eyes pinned on hers. 

Rein’s certain she can spot a trace of amusement on his face — not the malignant kind one sees in those who laugh at others’ misery, but one reminiscent of her parents’ endearment. “How did you know?” She tries to refuse him an answer yet her hands grow limp in his and, for all intents and purposes, that’s telling enough for him to assume the validity of his statement.

“I’m just like you,” he answers frankly. 

“How?” she fires back. The fact that it took him only a single statement to turn this meeting from feeling like it’s coincidental to feeling like it’s fated, surprises her almost as much as the content of this odd conversation, itself.

Royd enters Rein’s peripheral vision, the sudden onset of his presence carving clean through the sense of isolation the robed man had imposed upon her person. She realises she’d been stuck in a bubble for the past moment — now that it’s been burst.

The man picks up on this and lobs a cursory glance being thrown over his shoulder. He coolly nods the boy’s way in greeting, the faintest smile still touching upon the corners of his mouth.

“You’ll find out,” he answers at length, focus snapping back to Rein and his gaze following suit. Recognition of what he alludes toward instantly crosses her features. “My name … is Arkken Palamin. Remember it, for we _will_ meet again.” Arkken upturns her palms, baring them to him and draws his hands gently over the residual scraps and, as if by some form of magic, they _disappear_ like snow before the sun. “Stay safe.”

He vanishes in kind, leaving her no time to respond beyond a meekly uttered “bye” after he’s given her shoulders a gentle squeeze. She’s positively stunned to the point where not even her brother’s cajoling call can snap her out of it. 

Instead, a coaxing push against her shoulder does. “Hey, are you listening?” 

“Huh?” Of course she wasn’t. “Of course I am.” She returns the shove a little more roughly, chased down by a grin quickly shot his way lest he mistake her gesture for animosity (where it was only a flare of transient irritation). 

“Who was he?” Royd’s voice chimes in again, eyes peeled off his sister to look around and into the bustling crowd. There’s no one there that looks like the individual he’d just seen — and Rein can’t see him anymore, either.

“Arkken Palamin, he said.” Translation, as permitted by her tone of voice and searching eyes: ‘ _a total stranger_ ’. She’s dazed all over again by the mere thought of him. “And that he’s just like me.”

The boy looks her way once more, trying his hardest to look unfazed even with the knowledge that nothing gets past his sister. He’s bluffing. “Right. What else —”

“He didn’t tell me. Only said that I’d find out and we’ll meet again,” she interjects just in time to avoid another question. A one-shouldered shrug of feigned aloofness ensues. Still so perturbed by this meeting is she, there’s nothing left in her but a yearning for home so she can consider the events alone — assuming she can shake her brother’s company. 

But that’s a matter to address later. “We should go home,” Rein carries on. “Mother and father are probably waiting for us.”

‘ _No, they’re not_ ,’ he’s tempted to counter, for he knows there’s more to it than that. Notwithstanding, he withholds from the urge to pry for the time being. They both glance into the throng of people one last time. They both search for the fabric of his overcoat chasing after his booted feet between the many moving bodies; they both fail. 

“Let’s go,” he interrupts then, roping his sister in by looping an arm around her shoulder and promptly tugging her along.

She makes no objection. Instead, she nods and reciprocates the gesture with a grin and takes the needed first step. Bemused or not, her affection for her brother remains. “Let’s.”


	3. Kaadara III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rein has another clandestine meeting with Arkken Palamin, the Jedi she met the day before.

Royd sleeps still — the cadence of his soft snoring tells Rein that much by the time she sits up on the edge of her bed. She stretches, listens to the cracking of her vertebrae and promptly gets up to change into a clean set of clothes. Same routine, different day.

Her mother, an early riser like herself, greets her by the time the girl ambles into the kitchen some minutes after initially waking up. It takes only a stark inhale of air to know breakfast is almost ready to be served (muffins with marble-berries!).

She finds no joy in loitering once she has had her fill, though. The days are short and she woke up to the conclusion that she has a mission today: to find the stranger she’d encountered yesterday. He did promise they would meet again, after all. It’s just the time-frame he left undecided which, to her, equals ‘open for negotiation’. That, in turn, merits her own interventions so as to speed up the process.

Rein doesn’t expect it to work, this tactic of simply going back to where she saw the (comparatively) tall, dark stranger first, but the idea is too compelling to deny herself at least an attempt. So, after having barely swallowed her last mouthful and having put away her dishes, she heads out with a slamming of the door and a shouted ‘goodbye’.

* * *

Surely enough, she arrives at the marketplace, where the attending people bear the sort of energy that matches hers at this hour. Grogginess has no place here amidst the singsong nature of mouth-to-mouth advertising. The merchants cry their offers toward any and all interested souls, Rein included — but she relies on the freebies given to her by the more generous ilk after stepping into the bustling throng.

She follows the same path she walked with Royd the day before and then retraces it, but to no avail. Arkken Palamin is nowhere to be found even an hour or so after arrival and, truth be told, her interest in pouring more effort into finding him wanes with each passing second. Such are the whims of children, as much as she might deny it

But much to her surprise, there seems to be truth in what her parents have always kept telling her: the moment you stop looking for something, it will come to you. In this case, it’s a certain some _one_  

There he stands, in all his darkly dressed glory under the oscillating fabric kept afloat by the stall’s skeleton. Rein wonders if it’s intentional or not, the way he presents himself like this awe-inspiring, mystical individual even whilst engaged in something as trivial as perusing the tea leaves (laid out by the farmer from some village near Theed).

“You’re an early bird,” the man comments before Rein can even greet him.

She might’ve kept more of a distance if not for the lack of respect for personal space one can expect from market-goers. Even if she’d have tried, she would’ve found herself pushed and pulled toward him, anyway. She’s not quite bothered, though, leaving her to scrutinise the green leaves and their dried counterparts rather than keeping her eye on him. Now that she’s seen him, her need for thorough inspection of his person momentarily ebbs away. “So are you.”

Her deflection’s delayed and maybe that’s why his interest is so easily piqued by it. His amusement follows that linear increase surely enough. “Indeed. Another thing we have in common. 

What she doesn’t know is that this statement extends far beyond something as plain and simple as their preference for early wake-ups. Rein recalls him mentioning something of the sort during their first encounter, but he’d remained vague — intentionally, no doubt. Equally so, it was he who’d just as purposefully planted himself amidst the merchants’ stalls for her to find him again today because he _knew_ she’d come looking for him. She’s unaware of that, too.

“What do you mean?” Rein queries as such, gaze at last torn from the products on display in favour of searching his dark, unrevealing eyes for any clues.

“Come with me, and I’ll explain. We don’t need to go far.”

The latter statement doesn’t do much to allay the sudden flare of nervousness crossing her entire body. Unlike the tepid winds gently sweeping through the square, it cuts clean through her. The former she’s become acclimatised to; the latter not so much. It sets her nerves aflame, renders her stare even keener than before and allows her no reprieve of her returned urge to take in the sight of him.

In her head, the conversation every mother and her children have at some point replays: ‘If a stranger ever asks you to come with them, _especially_ after offering you sweets, decline — and leave. 

So, Rein swallows down her own curiosity. “I can’t.”

“Because you were told not to go with strangers? Don’t worry. We won’t leave the market.”

How perceptive of him. He must have been given that same talk when he was still young, too, then. That, or he’s so skilled at deception, he knows just what to say to those that prove wary around strangers.

For the moment, she’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. What can he possibly do amidst all these people? “All right.” The one condition to her agreement is that she leads them to a spot of her choice — which she doesn’t voice as much as she shows it by turning around and dipping between the browsing patrons.

Arkken’s just tall enough to see her move through the throng and toward the edge of the square, where the crowd noticeably thins out but everything, including the individuals close enough, remain in sight. It’s meeting halfway between privacy and security. A clever choice, indeed.

She turns toward him and stands with hands akimbo upon his arrival; the picture of confidence bordering on audacity. “You can tell me what you meant now.”

“As I said I would.” But not before sitting himself down on a nearby bench if only to even out the difference in height between them.

He hasn’t even spoken and already Rein can feel _something_ is about to happen. This moment is bound to be pivotal but why, she cannot yet tell. It’s only a gut feeling that alerts her to this but, so far, her gut’s scarcely proven unreliable when it comes to matters of anticipation. Equally so, she doesn’t know why that is, either.

Arkken, however, does. “I think you’re … special. Now, I’ll explain everything and be completely honest with you, if you’re honest with me.”

After blinking at his phrase of choice, ‘I think you’re special’, and how it echoes in her head, she hums in thought. Eyes dart skywards whilst she contemplates the proposition for all of two seconds in which the clouds appear to part and the people fall completely silent  in her search for clarity. It just may be a record, considering she usually shows a lot more restraint than this. “Deal.” 

The man’s eyes, in turn, light up. “Wonderful.”

Tension seeps from the child’s pores, he feels, and in a way it proves infectious. Arkken can barely contain his own exhilaration if only because this is the first time he’s discovered a youngster with such potential, himself. He’s had an apprentice in the past, yes, but he was assigned to him after discovery by another.

Reflecting on that creates room for unbidden, pre-emptive thought, which lead to temptation to get ahead of himself. As such does he snap back into focus, casting a cursory glance across his surroundings before looking to the girl again.

Eyes alight with expectancy and his smile equally bright, he words at last: “What do you know about the Jedi?”

One of the many missing puzzle pieces of what Rein perceives, falls into place without requiring any further thought. Not yet, at least. “Not much. They’re warriors, aren’t they? Not that that’s all they are, but … I don’t know. It’s part of what they are, right?” The mysticism shrouding them from the public eye most of the time has obviously served its purpose by casting a veil over her eyes when it comes to this. 

“They’re not warriors,” Arkken promptly corrects. “They’re guardians, more so. Keepers of peace — or _chasers_ of peace, when that is not yet the status quo.” Such as now. Rein doesn’t know the full extent of imbalance off-planet and he’s not about to fill her in on that, either. Later, perhaps … but first things first.

“But they fight,” she counters.

“Sometimes they must, for a good cause, sad as that often is.”

Who determines that, though? It’s a question she doesn’t dare ask, but the puzzlement stretching across her features and the tightness of the two-finger grasp on a strand of hair betrays her scepticism.

“You’re doubtful. Good,” he quips, a smile smearing itself from one end of his mouth to the other. Underneath his beard, Rein can spot dimples. In turn, he sees her forehead pucker in confusion. “You don’t blindly follow. That’s commendable.” Yet dangerous within the Jedi Order. This, he knows — for reasons he shan’t disclose. All she’ll get is his understanding and if only due to her ignorance, she’s glad to accept it. 

“Thank you.” At least her manners aren’t completely lost on her amidst this flurry of new information she is to process and dig deeper into. Notwithstanding, her curiosity prevails before long. “But what does this have to do with the Jedi?”

“You’re right. I’ll cut to the chase, then. Do you know what makes the Jedi so special, Rein?”

“They use magic?” Stuck between a statement and a question, her response hangs aloft between the two of them — much to the man’s visible amusement. She drops the strand of hair she’s been worrying for the past several seconds.

“Some people call it that,” Arkken smiles at length. “The Jedi call it the Force.” So do certain others, but this conversation appears best had when the current subject matter is issued in small doses. “It’s what enabled me to know what you did to get those scraps on your hands.”

Those same hands are overturned again so she can look at the heels of her palms, instantly making the memory that washes over her all the keener. “Then,” she preambles, “you’re a Jedi, too?”

“That’s a logical conclusion to come to,” just not always the correct one, but he keeps quiet about that for the time being. “And the right one, in this case. 

Rein’s eyebrows dart toward her hairline and her teeth start worrying her bottom lip. She feels her thoughts slip from caution to juvenile excitement, for it’d seem that her suspicions, rooted in yesterday’s impromptu meeting with the stranger (if she can still call him that), weren’t as outlandish as she’d thought them to be. That’s easily enough to coax a face-splitting grin into existence within two heartbeats.

It takes the same amount of time for her to pick a single question to ask — out of the whole barrage that readily overrides her every coherent thought. “A real one?” As opposed to a fake one, if such a thing exists.

The affirmative nod paired with that inviting smile her query is met with, is enough of a stand-alone answer for her to wonder: ‘what now?’

“I think you have those powers, too,” the man interjects before she can express doubt of such sort. A small sachet he detaches from his belt then, all whilst the girl’s left to simmer in her own disbelief. “I saw it in you, just like you see things in certain objects. It’s not all as inexplicable as you’d think,” continues he prior to directing his gaze to her again.

“Hold this, will you?” The pouch, still closed, is extended her way. If not for the purpose of this exchange, its contents are kept inside and obscured to the naked eye to test her affinity with the power he means to measure: psychometry. Items bear memories in the most literal sense to those who are able to interpret them — like Arkken; like Rein. Yet, where his ability was born of practice, hers seemed innate.

She does as told under the Jedi’s watchful gaze by taking hold of the item when suddenly, she’s faced with a rapid playback of events she can’t blink away so easily.

Something personal, she feels - for emotions, too, are transferred -, as she watches the incidents unfold before her. The satchel wasn’t always in his possession, which she swiftly learns contains a single coin engraved with metallic, braid-like designs. It was given to him by a child her superior by several years, donning robes very similar to his. When, she doesn’t know; she can only tell the memory feels dated, in a way, and holds enough value to the man for it to cling to the object she holds in hand the same way he holds onto the item in kind.

She blinks — once, twice, until promptly passing the item back to Arkken.

That’s another difference between himself and Rein, he notes: he’s not so easily overwhelmed by images of a past that doesn’t belong to him. She has yet to find that out.

“And?”

“A coin, right? From … someone. A student? Yaël Quasera, you called her. She gave it to you — but why show me this?” Rein questions out loud, long having forgotten the fact that she’s still standing on the edge of the marketplace now that her thoughts have been sufficiently jumbled.

He smiles, features split and teeth bared as he nods enthusiastically. “Correct!”

He stows the satchel whence it came, concealed underneath his cloak. A convenient enough place to put it when wanting to avoid questions as to what it is and why he keeps it. Very few Jedi are as willing to turn a blind eye to personal attachments as he is, even if only to small (though significant) objects.

“You know not many people would be able to know that, don’t you? And I do mean, _know_ , not guess. You just saw the exact moment where this came to be in my possession.” A dangerous word to use when living under the Jedi Order’s tenets, but necessary to drive his point home.

Rein’s no longer sure whether she’s ecstatic, proud or a little apprehensive about what’s to come of this. The contortion of her face once more betrays her own uncertainty — but, in kind, results in a reassuring squeeze to her shoulder. For a change, she doesn’t mind her personal space being broached. 

“You’re wondering what I’m getting at, aren’t you?” She nods after spending a second or two looking him in the eye. Doing so somehow feels like she’s solidifying something she hasn’t yet fully agreed to — and that does frighten her.

He feels that fear bouncing off her body, but chooses not to address it quite yet. “I'd like to see what more you might be capable of, if you'd answer one last question for me.” 

Trepidation remains; she only nods once more in a silent promise of an answer.

“How would you feel about becoming a Jedi, yourself?”

It somehow fails to surprise her, the coming of that question, yet she audibly chokes on her own inability to speak and staggers back in clearer manifestation of her anxiousness. 

The possibility obviously intrigues her, though that which it entails spooks her just as well. She’d have to leave home, her family, all that she’s known — her attachments, in a way. Nevertheless, she’s enraptured with what it might entail in equal part. There’s an allure to the Jedi that’s appealed to her since she first heard of them, as it tends to with most of her peers.

Not so unimportantly, they represent a _good cause_ , too. That speaks to her most of all.

“You need not decide in this very moment, child,” the man interposes at length. The choice has already been made, in truth. He knows this and finds he’s at war with himself all over again because of it. 

There can be no life for a Force-sensitive child, if she is truly that, without the proper guidance. To even consider taking away someone her age from her family sickens him to the core, however.

Maybe if she’d been a little older, she might’ve seen that look of rueful decisiveness cross his features. “Then when?” She doesn’t recognise it, though, so they’re left to present conversation only. It’s undoubtedly better that way.

 “Soon enough. Until then, outlandish as it may be of me to ask, I simply must: would you take me to your parents? I should like to speak to them, and maybe even your brother.”

“Why?”

“To hear from them what they know about you and your abilities and if they have them, too.”

Royd doesn’t have her abilities, Rein knows. She can’t bring herself to tell him that, though. It would feel like badmouthing at best. 

But a talk between Arkken Palamin and her parents equals trouble, in her mind. “I don’t know,” she thus preambles. “I don’t think they would like it if I brought a stranger with me.

Understandable, all things considered. Do not all parents worry for their child? Still, whilst remaining calm despite the exciting circumstances is key, there’s no time to lose when it comes to recruiting new life into the Jedi Order.

Does he retreat and deliberate with the Council, or leap at the opportunity presented to him now and leave careful cogitation for later?

“I’m not a total stranger, am I? And I’ll explain everything to them, I promise.” The final option wins out in a split second without forewarning. Protesting his own intuition in this is not an option, apparently.

Rein mulls it over, squints, bites her own tongue and unravels the already failing seams of her sleeves with her fidgeting. The feeling that she’s about to step into something with irrevocable consequence, something she can’t reverse, cannot be overcome no matter the amount of reasoning she projects onto herself. The feeling’s been there since they veered away from the crowds and the man’s consecutive queries have managed to amplify it into something… unequivocal.

Finally, she dips her chin. “All right.” Her interest triumphs over prudence, even if her answer doesn’t sound like a whole-hearted ‘yes!’.

Arkken doesn’t blame her for it. She’s older than the vast majority of those that join the Order as children. They don’t remember home. Rein, however, if she was to join, _will_ — and that would no doubt pose a problem in time. 

“Marvellous. Shall we?” There can be no opportunity for doubt to flourish between her answer and their departure. A harsh decision, maybe, but necessary in the face of the Galactic Republic’s burgeoning crisis. The truth was, is and remains that the likes of her, should she indeed be proven irrefutably Force-sensitive, are _needed_.

So when she leads, he follows at about half a metre’s distance. The patrons disperse behind them and they’re left to walk the sand roads to the more forested area of the Vale household, where the unknowing family awaits.


	4. Kaadara IV

Rein no longer hears his footfall behind her. There’s only the sound of her whirring thoughts keeping her company in the wake of the decision she’s made; the decision that she’s slowly beginning to fear might prove itself pivotal before long.

Her fear, in turn, is almost tangible to Arkken. Rather than home in on that feeling, though, he lets the sensation of his swaying cloak licking at the heels of his boots grasp at his attention instead. It’s easier than to bear the girl’s unease and the consequent guilt. In addition to that, something about the emotion, perhaps it’s its writhing and coiling as she tries to choke it down, tells him she wouldn’t want him to comment on it, anyway.

His eyes trace his surroundings, cautiously sweeping along the shallow sand dunes as they shrink into flat planes without much definition as they leave the crowded area of Kadaara. Cacti and succulents become more common as Rein leads them forward — and as he probes her intentions with a tendril of the Force, Arkken senses no dishonesty in the path she’s chosen for them to follow. She’s truly walking him to her house … and that surprises him, given her distrust and inclination toward clever manoeuvres at least during conversation.

This is straightforward, though, as soon proven by her slowing step once an isolated house atop a gentle slope rears into the Jedi’s peripheral vision. She needn’t speak for him to understand that this is where she lives — and thus her parents and brother, too. 

Her anxiety reaches its peak and makes itself visible in the frown stretching across her features when she at last turns to face the man.

“This is it. What are you going to ask - or tell - my parents?” 

She’s smart to question him, so given her reasonably cooperative demeanour thus far, Arkken feels no need to withhold a deserved dose of truth from her.

“I wish to know if they are aware of your abilities and what that means — and will mean, most of all.” That barely covers the load, but those two issues are his primary concerns at present.

Rein believes him without further doubt, which is remarkable enough on its own given his inarguably cryptic nature. She nods resolutely before the Jedi can wiggle his clever tongue again, though, and turns around to complete the trek to the back door — as is her usual point of entry rather than the front entrance.

With the extensively robed man in tow, she brushes past the bushels lining the borders of the property and after knocking the grand transparisteel pane serving as a door.

It slides open at the push of a button administered by her mother after some delay (rather than Rein letting herself in as she normally would). Then, and only then, does the girl enter. The man waits outside in a demonstration of a common sense of decency.

Rein doesn’t wait to properly greet her mother as she normally would, which visibly put the latter on edge.

“Mother, I’ve brought a … friend. A man.”

Leesa quirks a lone eyebrow, peeking at the transparisteel only to be met by her own reflection. Odd, indeed, given what her daughter had just said.

Her puzzlement is Arkken’s doing: he remains invisible despite blatantly being there. A trick of the mind, simple to execute around the ignorant.

“Oh? Where is he?” Her voice is reminiscent of other times where she was bound to find herself surprised in a matter of seconds, Rein finds. Lacking any interest in dragging out the inevitable, she sighs and casts a cursory look over her shoulder, beckoning the aforementioned ‘friend’ inside.

Languidly, he steps into view, yet even in maintaining such tranquillity about his person, Arkken manages to startle the woman with the mere sight of him. Rein shows no such concern, instead moving to shrug off her jacket and rucksack.

Perhaps more disconcerting is the fact that this is a _grown man_ , though — and one she’s not familiar with, at that. Leesa as such sceptically raises an eyebrow, stepping forward in that classically protective manner (as would suit any mother well, in her mind).

Rein remains quiet, albeit noticeably tense once her view is partially blocked prior to interjection: “There he is!”

“Here I am. Allow me to introduce myself,” he quips. His eyes seem alight with something equalling the sort of juvenile eagerness Rein, herself, had felt upon indulging him in conversation earlier. Could he be just as excited to meet the parents of the prodigy he’s made her out to be?

“My name’s Arkken Palamin. I —”

Rein steps out from behind her mother, whose hand instinctively comes to rest upon her shoulder. It seems safer for her to share what’s about to be said than allowing him to do so. 

He’s hardly startled. If anything, he almost looks content to pass the driving force behind the conversation over to Rein.

“He’s a Jedi, mother, of the Jedi Order.”

Leesa doesn’t blink — which is not out of lack of reaction. On the contrary: she feels an abundance of things all at once, of which apprehension is the most prominent. She knows what the Jedi are, or, rather, she’s heard about them. What heads the assault headed to the suddenly fragile front of her mind, is the abundance tales she’s heard on the grapevine, all pertaining to young children plucked from their homes to join the Jedi Order. 

She won’t budge so easily if it comes to that, though, perhaps _especially_ because Rein is an infant no more. Apart from the fact that she has a mind of her own and thus a say in this, too, Leesa expects she feels even more disinclined to surrender her daughter now than she might have years ago. Not only is she her flesh and blood: she is, along with her brother, the manifestation of her own morals and values. She and her brother are to be her and clan Vale’s legacy. 

Silence stretches on for a few seconds, during which Arkken’s gaze remains pinned on the woman’s and Rein’s darts back and forth between them. 

“You’re jumping to conclusions,” the man interjects, both hands lifting until both palms face forward in a gesture of good will. Still, in truth, she’s not wrong to make the assumption she does. He simply feels no need to stir the embers of her disquiet into a fully fledged fire.

She squints, resisting the urge to blink still, all whilst mulling over her present options. Does she send Rein away so she can properly vent the issue she takes with the visitor already, or not? If only to stall a little longer and give her more time to think, she queries: “Can you blame me?” 

“No, assuming you’ve heard what I think you’ve heard. You must’ve been told harrowing tales of how the Jedi Order acquires its apprentices, as most frightened parents have.”

Of course he’d know that. It seems he’s certain enough of himself to allow himself to blink despite the mounting tension she contributes to. She already feels as though she’s losing the upper hand despite being in her own home.

“I have. She,” a nod of her head toward her daughter ensues, “has not.”

“Been told what?” Rein inevitably chimes, stepping out from behind her mother to stand off to both the adults’ side.

Arkken’s eyes veer between the other two for a moment before his shoulders resolutely square. “I should like a word with your mother in private, dear girl, if you’d let me.”

Rein casts a questioning look up at her mother then, who meets it halfway with a nod of her head. Not only is she free to leave, but she probably should — and so she does, off to seek the company of her brother.

* * *

After smoothing over the necessary niceties, extending to the point of offering freshly brewed tea and tense small talk, they take their seat in the garden. Barren though its soil appears, Jo’Nah’s put extensive effort into adorning it with lush greens and vibrant tones of red and blue to offset the orange tone of the sand. 

Such is in his nature, that search for beauty, cliché though it sounded to her back when he first suggested planting the garden in this barren soil. Now she wishes he was here, too. It’s his very absence that compels her to gaze at the succulents, the imported ryoo flowers and tentacle ferns amongst various other flora lining the terrace.

Counterintuitive as it may seem, soaking in the comfort they provide equally reinforces her belief that she can rely on herself perfectly fine to see this through, whatever exactly this may prove to be.

“Thank you,” Arkken speaks up after allowing her that moment of solemn reflection. “— For the tea, and taking some time out of your day for me.”

Leesa snaps back into focus at that. It takes some effort to bridle her usually relentless straightforwardness in order to muster a smile. “You’re quite welcome.” It works for a moment. “You’ll forgive me for having some questions to ask before you say what it is you’ve come here to say, I’m sure.”

The Jedi, slightly amused by her attitude, smiles, casts his eyes downward and nods in concession. She, in the meantime, nurses her scalding tea and runs her forefinger’s tip along the mug’s rim. “How exactly did you meet my daughter?”

Not ‘Rein’, but ‘my daughter’. There’s a clear distinction to her if only because it puts emphasis on the fact that Rein is just that: _hers_. The sort of possessiveness that implies isn’t lost on Arkken and prompts a minute tilt of his head. 

“We met at one of Kadara’s many markets. East square, I do believe. She fell after someone bumped into her. Who was I not to help upon seeing the perpetrator walk off without as much as blinking?”

She can barely stop herself from scoffing at the display of alleged kind-heartedness. “Help how?”

“Just what you’d except. I helped her up and bearing witness to those scraps on her hands, I took care of those for her, too.”

Leesa squints over her beverage. She’s not drinking from it, only blowing away the steam rising from its contents. For all the shades tinting her garden, her environments feel increasingly unappealing as she tries to find a flaw of any sort in his story. Before long she sighs, finding no fault in his response at face value to feed her suspicion. “All right. And then what?”

“I knew of her gift since that moment, when I touched her hand. You know, don’t you?”

She feigns scepticism by frowning, but she gives up on that endeavour exactly two seconds into trying to maintain it. “Somewhat. You might have to specify.” 

“I’m not just talking about your people’s affinity with psychometry. Even so, it’s not exactly a common occurrence amongst your kind, is it? Correct me if I’m wrong, but —”

“You’re not wrong.” Her fingers flex on the surface of the table; a tick and an easily read giveaway of her mounting discomfort.

“Ah. Well, as I meant to say … there is more to your daughter than that.”

This time, her cynicism isn’t part of a ruse, so for the sake of permitting herself a much needed moment to think, she has a sip of her tea. The taste of it just is just about neglected amidst mulling over her thoughts and picking her next words. “I know what you’re going to say.”

Arkken doesn’t blink — simply because he’s not surprised. He only smiles down at his scalding drink for the duration of fleeting silence leading up to his retort. “You expect I’ll make your worst fear come true, don’t you?”

Somehow, somewhere between that clandestinely (and, rationally speaking, wrongly perceived) belligerent smile and his answer, Leesa loses her patience. “What game are you playing? Better yet, how’s this for a conversational tactic, Master Palamin …” Her beverage is placed onto the table — where neither saucer nor coaster dulls the impact — and she pointedly stares his way once more. “Try cutting to the chase.”

The razor-edged quality of her glance (if not glare) doesn’t escape his notice, but he doesn’t feel threatened so much as he feels he might’ve underestimated the hurdles this non-committal talk would contain. His lips purse before an equally non-committal sigh escapes him. “Fair enough. To be fair, though, I wasn’t anywhere near that point in conversation.”

That should be the end of his elaborate, oratorical dance — and he’s convinced that it would’ve been, if not for the frame moving in the corner of his eye.

“What’s going on here?” Jo’Nah steps through the wide (and now open), transparisteel entryway and into the garden. A mug of caf’s already held in hand, its scent pungent. Arkken can smell it. 

“Allow me to introduce myself, please,” the Jedi interjects before Leesa can. She’s left to witness the introductions through her narrowed eyelids. “My name is Arkken Palamin. I’m here on behalf of the Jedi Order.” Well, not specifically here in this household on its behalf, but he feels no need to tack that onto his sentence. Instead, he bows habitually, as one of his sort does in greeting.

Bemusement ghosts across the other man’s face as he most briefly looks toward his wife. “Jo’Nah Li Vale, Master Palamin. I don’t yet have the courage to assume it’s a pleasure to meet you. No offence.”

That almost comes across as a joke, which is enough for Arkken to take it as such. “None taken. I’ve yet to meet parents of young children who are thrilled at the sight of me.” 

It’s always been Jo’Nah who’s proven to be the more softly spoken one when it comes to menacing matters. Leesa, on the other hand, has ever been just that touch more eager to bare her teeth at even the faintest hint of a threat; eager to jump to conclusions.

“Your wife and I were just about to get to the heart of it; of why I’m here.”

Both men seat themselves down, Jo’Nah unsurprisingly at his wife’s side. He feels no need to closely nurse his drink, so he puts it down (whilst Leesa reclaims her mug just to feel its warmth once more). He’ll channel any discomfort into his words in lieu of fidgeting. His gaze veers to Leesa, sticks there a moment, and from underneath two frowning eyebrows darts back to the Jedi. He seems unfazed even as Jo’Nah leans forward and rests his forearms on the table. “All right. Care to enlighten me, then?”

* * *

Rein’s found her brother near what they always refer to as simply ‘the water’: a wide, oval lake at the centre of a wide ring of homes, lined either by people’s gardens or random thickets of forestation belonging to none in particular. In the Vale family’s case, it is the latter: a somewhat narrow buffer of Hydenocks and a thick line of leafy trees not native to Naboo, stretching from the back of their lands to the water.

Pacing through said line toward this aforementioned water, the centre of their beloved oasis, put the necessary distance between herself and the ongoing conversation taking place in that well-groomed garden. The voices of her mother and Master Palamin have long since faded into nothingness, leaving nothing other than the rustle of leaves and the shifting of sand at the beckoning of a particularly warm breeze.

She welcomes its gradual pull, but the contentious issue persists in her mind: those who had sent her off were (and still are) talking about her and she’s not even there to stand her own ground. Then again, she wouldn’t even know what that’d entail at this point in time — so at present time, she devotes herself to her brother. Or, rather, the distraction he always provides. Selfish it may be, yet it’s for the better. He seems to know that, too.

He kicks the water, sending ripples across the mirror image of herself across the reflective surface. She’d only taken a second out of the easy play they’d settled into to study its likeliness. One second too long, apparently. The unforeseen splashing of the water gives her somewhat of a jolt.  “Hey—”

“What?” Royd replies. He picks up a piece of driftwood, thereafter thoughtlessly brandishing it so that its flat end strikes the water and effectively sends it spraying toward the other. “You have to keep up, slowcoach.” A grin decorates his features thereafter and, upon witnessing that, Rein’s sold on the idea once more. 

“Psht. Watch who you call slowcoach. I’m not the one mum calls ‘sand slug’.” Mid-bickering, she skips out of the water rather than tread into deeper reaches of the lake for the (soon evident) purpose of fetching a stick of her own. “See? I’m keeping up.” She flourishes the piece of wood, testing its weight in both her hands before taking a fighting stance — or what she assumes such a stance would look like. “Are you?” 

There’s no hesitation underlining her implied challenge; it’s all too real. If not for the simper lining her features, her tone of voice certainly wouldn’t have suggested she was speaking to her very own brother.

Upon shaking off that initial degree of surprise, though, Royd’s all too eager to oblige. “You bet.”

He leaps from the water without warning and sprints toward her, braced for whatever defence she may opt with— but not the counter-attack she deploys. In a matter of seconds (or, rather, a single one), his face plants itself into the sand and he’s stuck with a mouthful of it … much to Rein’s personal glee. Good start, indeed. She’s all but forgotten about what’s taking place at home.

* * *

It takes exactly three sentences for Jo’Nah to come back on his decision to relinquish his hold on his drink of choice. It hasn’t yet been consumed (not a single drop of it, in fact) and under the weight of his building suspense, it likely won’t be anytime soon, either. Between his forefinger and thumb he pinches the ear of the mug, his grasp as unforgiving as his eyes pinned onto the other man.

Arkken notices this as he looks between the two people afore him yet thinks nothing of it. He will start allowing himself some measure of concern once he’s brought his point across. Needless to say, he hasn’t quite yet reached that point. 

“Your daughter, Rein — I believe she's … gifted.” He inserts a fleeting silence, cautiously gauging the others’ reactions. “Gifted beyond most people’s comprehension.”

Leesa maintains her silence and merely looks toward her husband from the very corner of her eye. He doesn’t move. “You’re still not telling me much. How do you know this?”

“I'm a … delegate from the Jedi Order, and a Master at that. I was here on other business when, by what you may deem happenstance, I met your daughter. I knew it from that very moment, simply because.”

Of course he could try to explain, but he’s already overstepping the boundaries set by the Council by having stayed here and taking it upon himself to handle this. It’s not strictly his responsibility to be here, soprotocol would rather have someone else carry this task to completion, but Leesa especially can pose a problem, the Jedi recognises. Momentum matters, for she’s fiercely protective of her children (and who could blame her?) and makes even the faintest hint of relenting on Arkken’s end, risky. 

Jo’Nah visibly tenses. Underneath his creased brow, his eyes exude the sort of recognition that’s usually preceded by a measure of surprise. He seems to have skipped that stage altogether, leaving him on exactly the same page as his wife. He fears the other man if only for the irrefutable truth that’s bound to spill from his lips. All parties present know it, but only he dares to translate it into words.

“Mister and Mistress Vale, your daughter, Rein — she’s extraordinary. She’s strong with the Force. Do you know what this entails?”

Had the beaker been frangible, it would’ve cracked this very second under the pressure of Jo’Nah’s worst concern nearing realisation: the loss of a child. Leesa anticipates the same — and that renders her loose-lipped.

“I do, Jedi.” Animosity compels her to move to the edge of her seat, palms flat on the table as though to reassert her dominance in her own living space. This time, Jo’Nah stays put. 

“You’d pluck her from this family just to satisfy your doctrine.” Her upper lip pulls back in voracious defiance whilst flingers flex against the surface beneath. “I won’t have it. Get —” 

One touch is all it takes to silence her and those whirring thoughts alike. The storm dies down and for however long it may take, she responds with unexpected gratitude — wordlessly, only with a nod toward the man beside her: her rock.

More sudden, however, is the retraction of his hand from her forearm and the consequent departure from his chair. He stands at full height within a second, looking upon their guest intently. “Excuse us for a moment, Master Palamin.”

“Of course. I will be … behind the trees.” Where else could he go than where that youngster’s uncontrolled tendrils of the Force beckon him?

Upon his departure, Leesa can only hope he doesn’t oh, so coincidentally stumble upon Rein again — but she expects otherwise. The thought of it leaves her ill at ease, notwithstanding the fact that not a single one of her motherly instincts warns her of any questionable intentions from the man. If anything, she suspects he may just take her best interest at heart.

She won’t start on that note, though. Once he’s out of view, she instead gets up from her seat at long last and cards her fingers through her hair. It tumbles down her shoulders in loose curls; the very same ones she passed onto her children. Under the looming threat of losing one of them, all she sees reminds her of them. “What now?”

Jo’Nah sighs, “I don’t know.” His brow creases, gaze pinning itself to his boots. The sand crunches underneath it. “This … isn’t what I expected to come home to. Not now. In the past, maybe, after you shared with me what your people taught you of these matters. I just …” 

“Thought she was too old for the Jedi Order to want her?” she complements, effectively drawing his eyes back to her. 

She steps in closer, placing both palms on his chest, in turn receiving the safety of his arms around her middle. Silence between the two of them persists, leaving them together alone with their tumultuous thoughts and the gentle whistle of the wind. Their minds seem attuned to one another, for with a single locking of their eyes they tell each other that which both already know: unless they fight on, this will cost them their daughter. They can choose between the two: contend what’s been made out to be the natural order of things, or contribute to letting this run its smoothest course.

In the end, it’ll all be up to their daughter and what she wants for herself.

* * *

Now at the other end of the greenery, Arkken emerges from the treeline with that same brand of grace with which he’d first made himself known to the twins. Nowhere near overdone but hard to miss, which is precisely why he keeps his distance: for covert observation. From his current position, partially obscured by the overhanging shrubs as it is, he observes in total silence. 

For all intents and purposes, he isn’t there; his eyes aren’t on her and thus she can’t feel or see him as she parries her brother’s every strike — _well_ , nearly. Out of the two of them, though, her reflexes appear superior in every sense of the word. She’s faster, puts her body to use much more efficiently, and wastes neither time nor energy in her deployed counters.

Granted, her form is all but perfect. She’d need a Jedi Master for that. Dare he cross the boundary implicitly set by her parents and relay that suggestion to her? It is not uncommon for him to be socially brazen when the situation calls for it, yet she is child. He does not wager with or around children — usually.

The clock is ticking, however; there is little time before the Order will contact him on his progress made on what business brought him to Naboo in the first place. Naturally, those matters were solved days ago. He just did not inform them of that lest they order him to return to Coruscant — without the girl. Someone else would then come for her perhaps, should he inform the Council of her existence, but he’s drawn to her and she is to him. The pull between them is gravitational and Arkken doesn’t want to risk that not coming to certain fruition.

So he waits patiently, obscuring his presence even as he steps into plain sight by bidding the Force to render him invisible. The two continue sparring and he proceeds to watch until the first one of them lands in the sand again, prompting a lull in the boisterous play between the two. It’s Royd toppling over that merits the aforementioned interval in the end. 

“Bravo!” With that said, he appears, right there between two blinks of the eye. Neither Rein nor Royd can make sense of how, yet given his previous antics, they’re not so much suspicious as they are merely surprised. Pleasantly, in the elder twin’s case. “You two know how to handle yourselves.”

Royd scrambles back onto his feet before his sister can offer a hand, stunted as she was between eyeing up the Jedi and regaining her bearings. “Yeah, she most of all,” he nods toward his sister. “How long have you been watching?” he asks then, dusting off his trousers. “And from where?”

That earns the boy a hearty chuckle. “Long enough — and from enough angles to deduce what I have.” That answer’s scarcely satisfactory, but something tells him he’s not going to get more out of him than this and thus he relents, effectively passing the reigns of conversation to his sister. 

“This is Royd,” she preambles. “My brother.” She foregoes mentioning he is the younger sibling, given that they’re only minutes apart. It only matters when it benefits her in some way, rare as it is for that to be the case.

“A pleasure,” the Jedi answers, bowing just slightly at the waist. “I’m Arkken Palamin.”

“A Jedi,” the boy then interposes, looking at the man as though he’d only just now realised it. Eyes are wide with renewed wonder. It’s as if somehow he’d forgotten all about what his sister had told him about the stranger. 

A dark eyebrow arches, concealing his urge to laugh once more, as he looks toward Rein. “Indeed.” They exchange a knowing glance — and that marks the first impulse of feeling irrelevant of this occasion on Royd’s end. He’s felt it before, when observing the two for a split second before Arkken would disappear into the marketplace’s crowd. He’s just never experienced it quite so keenly and unbeknownst to him, it’s about to be amplified.

“May I have a word with your sister, Royd?” A tense pause is inserted between his question and the elaboration. “Alone.” Completely unnecessary in that sense, though the prompt is needed for Royd to shake off his indignation and nod in demanded compliance.

Rein wouldn’t usually let that happen so easily, though this time all she does despite the guilt is mouth a quick apology her brother’s way.

He then vanishes quietly, retracing the Jedi’s steps back home, leaving the two to one another and leaving himself alone with his thoughts. He wonders what they’ll talk about, daring not to trust any assumptions that stew in the back of his mind. That would only worsen the trepidation that etches itself deeper into his heart with every step he takes away from his sister. Somehow, he can’t help but fear that come the end of this day, he’ll have lost his sister.


	5. Kaadara V

Royd speeds past the trees once he’s out the waterfront’s view as if someone’s laid fire right at his heels. Whilst that isn’t the case, he can’t help but think himself the bearer of grave news, compelled to get the word out to his parents as fast as his legs can carry him. Between the thinly seeded trees he thus moves, jostling against the shrubs every now and again. Once he reaches the other side of the treeline, and with that the garden behind his home, he’s close to having run out of breath. The sand kicked up with every step taken forward has left a cloud in his wake.

The sight of it promptly tears Leesa from Jo’Nah’s arms. They’d stood there like interlaced trees from the moment Arkken disappeared, barely having said a word. None were necessary for them to spell out their doom hanging overhead. Nothing is certain quite yet, though the plausibility speaks for itself and so does their premature despondency.

She can’t recall how many minutes have passed since then. Only her lasting apprehension stands out to her.

‘Royd, darling,’ she coos despite herself, hastening and catching him in his approach by crouching down and grabbing his shoulders. ‘What’s the matter?’ _Is your sister all right? Where is she?_ Neither question she asks, but they lie so heavily on the tip of her tongue that she can’t exactly swallow them, either.

‘Nothing — everything. I don’t know. There’s a man with Rein now. Arkken. I saw her with him yesterday at the market. She told me about him afterwards,’ he says, pausing only to catch his breath before rapidly proceeding. ‘He’s a Jedi and he knows about … things. About Rein, that she can do things.’

Although he recalls Rein telling him that their parents are aware of her gifts — they’d even talked to them about how they run in their mother’s bloodline —, he’s too cautious to speak of any significant details. His creasing forehead and wide eyes, however, give him away.

Leesa pauses, looking over her shoulder to Jo’Nah, and sighs. ‘I know. We talked to him just now.’ 

‘Did you just say you saw her with him?’ Jo’Nah cuts in, and moves to Leesa’s side. ‘Yesterday?’ 

The boy stays silent, gaze veering from one parent to the other and back again. 

‘You’re not in trouble,’ his father adds. ‘I just want to know.’

After a short moment of hesitation and gnawing at his bottom lip, Royd replies: ‘Then… yeah.’ 

‘It doesn’t matter anymore,’ Leesa dismisses. ‘What’s done is done. What matters now is…’ The sentence is left unfinished. What matters now? Can she even answer that question when left completely and utterly in the dark?

Royd’s frown deepens. Jo’Nah’s follows suit. ‘We’ll find out what matters soon enough. I don’t expect Arkken will take too long with Rein. He is with her right now, isn’t he?’

‘He is. They’re by the water, just talking.’

 

* * *

 

They’re past talking. ‘ _Let a spar do the speaking for us,_ ’ Arkken had suggested, revealing Rein to be of like mind. 

Her footwork’s unpolished, he observes mid-parry, but the flourish of the branch she’s chosen as her weapon attests to an aptitude for elegance at least. Her transitions are choppy at best, though these, not unlike her footing, could easily be smoothed out and corrected with the right amount and type of training.

He knows he shouldn’t get ahead of himself, however. Nothing’s certain; a decision must still be made by the Council and the girl’s parents require more convincing yet. Still, the former of the two beseeched parties is likely to prove more challenging in the long run. His consultation with the other Jedi was nothing if not unhelpful — for now. But Arkken’s no stranger to the Council’s apprehension and whilst he wishes that would’ve eased his mounting agitation, it doesn’t in the slightest. Anyone too old by the Order’s standards merits an exceptional note of prudence. Memories of home may impede their training, yet it’s that exact uncertainty that Arkken intends to exploit and use as an argument: they don’t know how this may or may not affect Rein — and if it does, he’ll be there to adjust the course of her schooling.

It’s difficult to keep his wishful mind in check in the face of such promise, even when kept occupied by the girl’s best attempt at striking him anywhere other than the piece of driftwood he deflects her every blow with.

But he’s seen enough, so in one fluent movement he sidesteps her, pokes her in the back with his makeshift weapon, and sends her tripping over his extended leg. In trained reflex, he then quickly grabs hold of her shoulder to keep her from toppling over and landing face-first in the sand.

Already, there’s a certain inkling of avuncular pride shining in those pitch black eyes of his. There’s untapped potential in her. ‘Not bad.’

Rein doesn’t need him to speak his every thought to know that what he really means to say is, ‘ _not bad for someone who hasn’t received formal training_.’ Instead of lending her voice to skepticism, though, she sides with the part of her that’s grateful and nods. ‘Thank you.’

Breathing rapidly, she looks the man up and down and braces her weight onto the wood. He’d discarded his mantle upon inviting her to their spar, though only now does she get to take a good look at his underlying uniform. The tabard, a lighter shade of grey than the layers trapped beneath, is strapped to his form with maroon-like sash. Between the locals, who tend to don lighter fabrics and more saturated colours, he sticks out like a sore thumb. 

More interesting is the tool belt around his hipline, though. Closed satchels, a comlink and most interestingly, a lightsaber. Once her gaze lands on that particular item, her gaze stays pinned to it for a long moment. Arkken notices, much to his amusement.

‘Do you recognise it?’ he asks, forefinger tapping the hilt. Rein nods, humming affirmatively, upon which he unfastens the weapon. She watches him push a slider downward and lock it into place, though nothing changes in her eyes.

He isn’t about to demonstrate the weapon at full capacity, which is precisely what the switch was meant to facilitate. Where before it could penetrate a wall of durasteel with some effort, it won’t even cut through so much as wet tissue paper now that the lever's pushed in place. 

With a hiss, the plasma then emerges from the hilt, its centre revealing itself to be a sterile tone of white surrounded by a fringe of bronze yellow. Rein’s eyes travel down the entire length of it, landing at last on the Jedi’s hand. His thumb rests just besides a switch — different than the one she’d seen him work earlier. 

After throwing a cursory glance about their surroundings, just to make sure they’re still alone, he lowers himself to one knee in the sand and holds the lightsaber out to Rein. ‘Hold it. Don’t worry, it can’t hurt you. I made sure of it.’

It’s with no small amount of internal conflict — a constant shift between hesitation and eagerness — that she extends her hand accordingly, accidentally grazing the palm of Arkken’s hand with her fingers. He doesn’t flinch. He remains steady and to her, that seems to fit well with the infallible air of tranquillity that’s surrounded him thus far so far.

His hand slowly retracts once the weapon seems secure in the girl’s hand. Rein then realises just how light the weapon is — or it feels that way when compared to her expectation. ‘I thought it would be heavier,’ she confesses in passing, her other hand following suit soon enough. Waving the plasma to and fro, she in kind realises just how loud it is when moved about. Its noise doesn’t deter her from progressing into twirling the lightsaber around probingly, carve through the air and fence according to no particular method or form. 

She isn’t imagining her first fight as the weapon traces its designated path. She’s imagining her first lesson in how to handle it properly and her improvement as her training progresses. More concretely put, she’s assuming it’ll come to that before long; hoping for it, even. It’s the latter that, once she recognises the pull this potential future has on her, stifles her movements until she stands still once more. The sand settles around her and suddenly, she feels weighed down, too. 

Arkken, smiling until now, frowns. The disturbance in her is so palpable it feels like it belongs to him, too. The only thing that sets his awareness of it apart from hers is that the cause of this shift remains unknown to him. ‘What is it?’

Her eyes are downturned, boring into the soil at the edges of her soles. The explanation to the question is as obvious as it elusive to her. It’s there, right underneath her skin and on the very tip of her tongue, but she can’t find the right words to describe it fittingly.

She concludes that at the root of it all lies a question that she _can_ word, at least. Looking up at last, one foot anxiously shuffles the sand. ‘What’ll happen now?’ 

It’s not as explicitly worded as he’d expect, yet the presence of that unequivocal question mark is telling all on its own. The explanation to sate her curiosity is fortunately rather straightforward — in theory. In the practical sense of it, though, it’s plain to see that the battle in and around her has only just begun. 

‘It all depends on you, on what you want, Rein.’ He holds out his hand in an unspoken request for his weapon. Playtime’s over: she set that boundary, herself, and so she returns the lightsaber after switching it off, whereafter he clips it back onto his belt without looking. It’s all instinctual.

‘So,’ he preambles then, finally rising to his full stature again. ‘What is it you want?’

She knows the answer to that question already. Saying it out loud, however, will make it definitive, won’t it? Like she’s signing a contract she won’t be able to back out of. It’s the certainty of no escape that frightens her most. But even so: does she have a choice even now? Will he leave her be in peace if she denies the obvious truth and if he does, will she not regret it? 

Arkken can guess at what’s stalling her: the exact sort of concern all those brought into the Order at infancy don’t have to deal with. He feels for her, truly — but the one advantage she’s given over the aforementioned Younglings, is that she has more of a choice than they did. If she recoils now, he can easily halt the process put in motion with the Order with a story spun to her advantage: she’s too old and her roots in this place run too deep. If not, he can do the opposite: she has untapped potential and a gift not many of even her own ilk possess. 

‘No one will force you to do anything,’ he coos as such. His hand gravitates to her shoulder then, resting there a moment, for she allows it.

‘I want,’ she starts, stammers, and pauses. ‘I want to be like you. I want to…  learn.’

‘Do you know what it’s like to be me, to be a Jedi, though?’

‘I only know what I’ve been told, and that’s enough.’ How can she face such an opportunity and not seize it with both hands?

‘Told by…?’ he prods, eyebrows creasing.

‘My mother and you.’

‘And what does your mother know about the Jedi?’

Rein doesn’t have the answer to that, forcing her to shrug after a split second.

‘What do _you_ know about the Jedi, then?’

She realises that question’s easier to answer, albeit after a moment’s worth of inward reflection. ‘They’re peacekeepers, or protectors of peace, at least, right? And sometimes they have to fight because of that, even if that means breaking the peace, themselves.’

‘Hm,’ Arkken hums, rubbing his chin and smiling almost proudly. ‘ _We_ do not deal the first blows — barring the few existing exceptions. And we are more than warriors, dear girl. Some of the most impressive historians, scientists and ambassadors can be found amongst the Jedi, too. But this is a lesson for another time and another place.’ One might argue it’s meant for students of the Jedi Order; to whom she doesn’t belong. Not yet, even if that alone implies an almost vulgar assumption of her impending joining.

Rein nods understandingly, pausing yet again before suggesting: ‘Maybe we should go back to my parents and tell them.’

‘Tell them what, exactly?' 

‘I thought you’d know,’ she fires back, causing him to smirk.

‘Not yet. Do they know about your… gift, Rein?’ His features level out, once more equalling hers to an appropriate degree.

‘Yes. Mother told me it sometimes happens to her people, to the Kiffar. The… sight, I mean.’ She gestures toward her hand with a wave of her right hand. ‘They didn’t really… make a big thing out of it. Only Royd did at first.’

Nodding, Arkken figures that’ll at least save him the usual explanation. He then rucks up his tunic’s left sleeve, revealing his viridescent chronometer. The exact hour doesn’t matter much, but he does find it’s high time to move this forward. ‘Right then. As for what to tell your parents: I’ll need to know one more thing,’ he proceeds, plucking a small device from another pouch on his belt. Rein can’t identify it, but he can tell she’s trying. From the same satchel, he plucks a holstered needle.

‘See this?’ The device is held up in his other hand. It doesn’t mean anything to her, so she blankly stares and nods. ‘Good. Now… There’s no time to get into the details this very moment, but this little machine can measure your aptitude for abilities like the one you’ve already displayed. It translates your skill into numbers.’ Rein nods again, though this time she frowns in obvious confusion. Arkken smiles — comfortingly, she finds. ‘You don’t need to understand yet. I didn’t at first, either. What I need from you for this to work, though, is a little bit of blood. A small pinprick.’ This has her squinting, looking at the backs of her hands and the folds of her elbows where she expects the needle to breach her skin. ‘Right here,’ the Jedi then interrupts, pointing at the pad of her forefinger.

That wasn’t quite what she had in mind, but she recognises this should work out in her benefit. After a moment, she purses her lips and shrugs. ‘All right.’

Ah, that juvenile naivety! An adult likely wouldn’t allow him, practically a stranger, to take their blood and run it through a machine — yet is intentions are sound, so he doesn’t kick up a fuss to point out her lack of prudence. Instead, he slots the needle into the lancing device. He then holds out his palm invitingly where she then places her hand, fingertips facing up. After bracing her index finger properly, Arkken then positions the small machine on top of the fleshy part. ‘Want me to count down?’ Fingertip hovers above the button, not menacingly but in patient awaiting. 

Her answer goes against his expectations: ‘No. Just do it.’ His mouth twists into a half-smile before he nods — and promptly presses the instrument’s button, sending the short needle’s very tip right into her skin. Indeed, it feels just like a pinprick, though it’s as if knowing it was going to happen makes the pain just a touch worse. She bites back a grimace.

It reveals itself to be a split second’s job. He withdraws the machine about three seconds later, hastily stashes the needle to be disposed of later, all before aptly bandaging Rein’s finger. She thanks him quickly when the device’s screen lights up. Arkken’s facial expression promptly follows suit.

‘Stay here, will you? Don’t you worry, I’ll be right back and I’ll explain everything later.’ Cryptic once more, but Rein’s come to the conclusion that there’s nothing to be done about that. Not now, not here, and definitely not by her. 

So he walks off with her blessing, moving away from the gently oscillating waters and into the trees again. Long before he’s anywhere near the Vale household, though, he turns aside and wends his way eastward for just a minute or so. This leaves him sufficiently out of the child’s view, he reasons, and beyond her scope of hearing.

A holoprojector’s then pulled from one of the pouches on his belt and placed in the centre of his palm prior to activation. Once the comlink to the Jedi Temple’s established a moment later, a translucent blue image of Grandmaster Yoda greets him. In the palm of his hand, he can’t be any taller than fifteen centimetres.

‘Master Yoda,’ he greets, voice relatively hushed as if scared he might be overheard despite the distance — and despite the fact that it wouldn’t even be so dramatic. Over the years spent in his branch of covert work, he’s simply grown appreciative of his own privacy.

‘Master Palamin. News of your prospective Youngling, you have?’ croaks the other end of the line, to which Arkken slowly nods.

‘Yes. I just took her blood test. We’ll have to redo it at the Temple if she’s to come with me, but the provisional readings suggest a telling midi-chlorian count between ten and twelve thousand per cell. With this assurance, as per the Council’s request, I wish to know the Councilmembers’ thoughts on her and her chances. What’s the verdict?’

Arkken speaks calmly albeit with clear intent and fortunately, Yoda doesn’t dawdle unnecessarily either. ‘Risky, training her would be. Attached to home and family, she is.’

‘But it’s not the sort of attachment we are most apprehensive about,’ he counters. ‘This isn’t insurmountable. Time heals.’ In most of the cases, at least, which he assumes he doesn’t need to explicitly voice. ‘She won’t be exposed to her family or Kaadara when under our tutelage.' 

‘Homesick, however, she will be,’ Yoda answers.

‘She will, I won’t deny it, yet even if that’s the case and it should prove a fatal flaw preventing her to progress as she’s meant to, the Order will still have a place for someone with her talents.’ The Jedi Service Corps, most notably, or a layperson to the Order. It’s a fleeting thought neither worthy of thorough contemplation or discussion, he however deems, so he quickly moves on. ‘But you’ve already talked through this with the rest of the Council I assume,’ Arkken sighs, gesturing with his free hand to drop the sequential arguing. ‘What do you need to know in order to allow her to join her peers?’ 

‘Nothing else,’ the other reflects. ‘Decided, her case is. Welcome to the Jedi Order, she is. Talk about appropriate placement, we must later.’

A dam within Arkken bursts then, leaving him awash with relief and another dose of resolve pouring forth from the inside out. It fills him up completely, from toe to crown. ‘That saves us a lot of time.’ The Grandmaster gives no reply beyond a slow nod, prompting him to continue. ‘I’ll notify you when matters progress, Master.’

With that said and a final confirmation exchanged, the comlink’s broken off and the holoprojector disappears into its dedicated satchel once more. He then speeds back to Rein the same way he left.

She greets him with a look stuck between a smile and a worried frown after skipping a rock across the pond’s surface and the obvious question: ‘Where did you go?’

The Jedi, in turn, smiles lopsidedly and gestures by pointing his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Back there. I went to talk with the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order about… well, what to tell your parents.’ That’s what it boils down to, at least. He kneels once more before continuing, levelling their eyes. A weighted silence is allowed to exist as he looks into her eyes — and she returns his gaze. ‘I think you could make a great Jedi one day, Rein. The very wisest of our Order would like to give you the chance to become just that.’

Those words, especially brought to life through that tone of voice, not patronising but encouraging and full of the precise sort of hope she’d been too afraid to dig up, herself, set her heart aflutter. Something coils in the pit of her stomach, as if she’s staring down a deep, plummeting waterfall, but she’s ready to jump. As ready as she’ll ever be, at least. Can a few days’ worth of simply imagining this to happen actually get a person ready for something this new?

Even if not, she’s suddenly acutely aware of the sun shining into her eyes from behind the man. Although she’s forced to squint, her gaze doesn’t waver. Not even when the smile on Arkken’s face slowly becomes hers, too. ‘Then I want to tell my parents _that_.’

With that said and purpose on their side, they return to the Vale household. The garden’s empty, but both of them take note of the figures moving about behind the transparisteel panels. Rein walks on ahead of the Jedi, sliding open the door without knocking and giving all those inside somewhat of a fright.

Jo’Nah instantly returns the datapad to the table he’d picked it up from earlier. The news articles meant to distract him did precious little to truly soothe his mind, slowly giving way to the increasing pressure of his anxiousness. Leesa in turn leaps up from the seat at the table and Royd comes dashing down the stairs. He must’ve seen then approach from the bedroom window.

That’s when Rein realises they’d all been stewing in their own anxiety whilst waiting for her return. ‘I’m sorry,’ is the first thing she says as such, foregoing any preamble. ‘For… keeping you waiting.’

She’s agitated once more and Arkken feels it. Everyone does, in fact, but she most keenly, for there’s more to be sorry for than what she just vocalised. She wonders if her family knows already; if they have even the slightest inkling of her pending departure. She wonders if they’ll see it as a let-down, or even a betrayal. She wouldn’t be able to blame them for it either way, yet the thought of it alone moves her to tears. 

They well up in her eyes, only barely held back from spilling over her eyelids. Still she gives herself no reprieve, blinking furiously instead and wills herself to stop. In doing so, she momentarily turns aside for the sake of playing it off as an eyelash that got caught in her eye or something of the sort. Everyone else knows better, even Royd as he stumbles into the room, who more often than not misses cues of that nature.

The door finally slides shut behind the two, breaching the momentary silence imposed on them all. Leesa then darts forth at once, fearing the worst — that is, her child’s untimely departure — but keeping it to herself. ‘It’s all right, dear.’ She greets Rein as she had Royd earlier, capturing the girl in her arms. She holds her tightly, burying her nose in the deep brown, tousled mane to soak up her scent. _One last time,_ she tells herself, but the premature nature of that sentiment results in firm self-chastising not a moment later. She forces herself to let go then, at least enough so to look Rein in those tear-stained eyes and hold her shoulders for a moment longer. 

Arkken gazes upon everyone present, eyes hopping from one to another and repeating the cycle. His mouth remains in a stiff line, however. 

‘What happened?’ Royd interjects then, taking no heed of the tension which barely allows more questions over answers. But, then again, it does create the necessary space to clarify just what they’re here for.

‘We just talked,’ Rein answers. Leesa gets up at length, leaving her unsure where to look now. Only Arkken’s eyes aren’t on her, so that’s precisely where her stare gravitates after a short while. 

He only just catches her in his peripheral vision, but his eyes land upon her father, who’s remained silent thus far. ‘Perhaps we should sit down. May I?’ 

Jo’Nah nods, gesturing toward the U-shaped sofa toward the other end of the room. When Rein walks past him, he places a hand between her shoulder blades, earning him a sincere though dismal smile. It nurtures the already present seed of preemptive sorrow planted deep within him. 

He dawdles by the armrest and waits for everyone else to sit down. Eventually, he takes his seat on the aforementioned part, right behind Rein, who in turn sits between Leesa and Royd. Arkken sits down on the other end of the furniture, just past the bend and quite close to the edge at that.

It’s the first time Arkken manages to get a good look at the interior. Or, rather, that he allows himself that much. From the leg of the settee on which he sits, parallel to the house’s distal wall, he looks along the wall adjoining it, creating the cornered-off living section of the house. All off-white sandstone with a small nook carved into the corner adjacent to the end of the sofa he sits upon. It contains books — the kind printed on paper — and a beanbag, all of which is illuminated by a window running all the way up to the ceiling, fitted to the breadth of the recess. Further along the wall stands the dinner table, just in front of the right of two entirely transparisteel doors. 

Farther left from there, he can only just see the nearest end of the kitchen. The rest of it remains out of his sight, though he knows that, too, was modelled in a U-shape along the walls there. The only other part visible to him is the staircase between the corner leading to the kitchen and the living area in which he sits. It’s a lovely house in any case, he finds. Quite different from where he intends to bring Rein. 

Jo’Nah’s hand rests comfortingly on her shoulder once they’ve all settled. She sits straight across from the Jedi in this position and whilst he isn’t so much subjected to Jo’Nah’s scornful eye, he is to Leesa’s all the more so. She crosses one leg over the other and her upper body inclines forward, an elbow braced on her top leg whilst her other arm swaths around Royd’s shoulders. The family forms an almost hostile front against their guest that way, making Rein feel especially uneasy.

Arkken’s unbothered by it and thus has no qualms about breaching the quiet this time, though he does take note of the pointed stare he’s subjected to. ‘Rein told me you’re all aware of her… special ability, her _gift_.’ He takes on a slightly questioning tone, the lift of his tone almost suggestive of a question. This prompts the others to nod and hum affirmatively. He resolved not to stall just to spare their feelings, so their ensuing silence is taken as permission to proceed. The tension between the family members continues curdling as he does, running so thick one could cut it with a knife. ‘You probably know the extent of her ability better than I do — but I know there’s more to her than just that, too. She shows a remarkable aptitude for using the Force. For sensing it, bending it.’

He pauses this time around. Even if he hadn’t, Leesa would’ve interrupted him all the same. ‘And you would like to explore her abilities more in-depth, which would’ve been fine with me — I’d even encourage it — if not for the one detail I know you’re working your way towards.’ She progresses into a seething manner of speech, all clipped tones and hoarse syllables. The muscles surrounding her mouth visibly tense, too, prompting Jo’Nah to abandon his unmoving observation in favour of calming her.

He places a hand on her upper arm, effectively grounding her and urging her to lean back. Then, after exchanging a passing glance with her, he shifts, arching around one leg of the settee to sit himself down at a smaller distance from Arkken. Right at the bend of the furniture, in fact. ‘What Leesa’s trying to say, perhaps a little offhandedly, is that she’s… worried that you intend to take her to the Jedi Temple and that, if you do, we lose our daughter and Royd loses his sister.’ 

Although Jo’Nah brings across the family’s shared point quite serenely in comparison to Leesa, it hits everyone involved all the harder for it. Arkken appears unaffected, the children look at each other with a measure of suspense that foretells the spilling of tears, and Leesa anxiously wrings her hands. Jo’Nah, in the meantime, stays pinned in place. To Arkken, he appears stuck in an expectant daze.

He doesn’t comment on it, though. ‘I can understand that. I do wish to bring her with me to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, yes. It’s the homestead of our Order and where the Younglings and Padawans will wind up most often.’ The off chance that she could be sent elsewhere presents itself as only a fleeting thought, either way. ‘Even if that was not the case, the fact would indeed remain that which you, Leesa,’ he sets his gaze upon her, ‘fear. There’s… a very slim chance you’ll see your daughter again if she’s brought into our ranks. Such is the demand of our Code — and the biggest hurdle for parents to cross when confronted with this choice.’

‘We have a choice?’ she questions then, leaving no space for contemplation before she does. ‘What will you do if we decide against letting you have her?’

‘Then I’ll leave without her, simple as that. The final vote is yours.’

‘So it is and shall be,’ she says. With a parting sigh of sorts, she briefly looks at Royd and Rein. The frown on both their faces deepen before Leesa speaks again. ‘Give us the rest of the day to come to our own conclusion, Master Jedi. We’ll have our answer to your… summons, tonight.’

Refusal lies on the tip of Arkken’s tongue. _‘There’s no time,’_ he wants to say — but what difference will some hours make? His stony face bespeaks no such internal conflict in any case, and this should leave him with enough time to prepare his ship for departure. He simply nods after a split second of this aforementioned contemplation and gets back on his feet. ‘As you wish.’

Jo’Nah gets up and the the rest of the family rapidly follows. The children stay behind eyes wide and pinned on their elders nearing the garden door. Arkken doesn’t forget to wave the young ones goodbye, though. Royd returns the gesture somewhat more begrudgingly than Rein — and he sees it, too. 

Other than that, their parting is swift, almost like tearing off a bandage. Time’s too precious for them now to waste it on anything other than the issue at hand: Rein’s choice. Their lives will be changed in one way or another no matter the outcome.


End file.
